Post by ▪ Talar ▪ on Jul 2, 2009 15:05:41 GMT -5
Author's note- yes I know, this book needs a little work, but im getting to it. If you have any suggestions please ask. Also coment on the pole if you think this is a good plot/story line or not. And please tell the truth! Thanks!
Prologue
The sun’s rays crashed into my eyes as I opened up our back door, my eyes hurt for just a few seconds as they took it in lightly. My pupils grew smaller to let in less light. My dog Maggie trailed right behind me bursting into our large back yard, it was nice here in Minnesota. The trees were tall, green and everywhere. You didn’t have much annoying neighbors so close to your own house like in the deep cities. I loved it here; the only thing that bothered me was that the next town to where you could actually shop in was Brainerd, a half hour away from our pleasant home in Breezy Point. I didn’t mind it that much, I was glad to be born where I was.
The day was Tuesday, the last day of June of 2009, with the summer going by as quick as it was, I could barley keep up. I have been so busy with my new job at a restaurant. It was called Pine Peaks, I didn’t so much like my job there, and you probably wouldn’t either. I’m a busboy, or should I say girl. My sister also works there, her name is Katherine, and her friends just call her Kat for short. She is the host, she is nice and pretty, two years older than me, but like every sister can be a pain in the butt.
Me? Well I’ll just say I’m tall, and pretty normal shaped. My long brown and golden hair goes down past my shoulder blades, as does Kat’s. I’m also I figure skater, but I am not what you would call the graceful type. I still hunt and run with my dog, but that doesn’t mean I’m a hick, or a prissy girl. I don’t really like to be known for any of the names, I’m just plain old Josie.
Then I came off of our deck and to the dirt driveway, it went down a slight hill nearly a quick sprint away. Then into my neighbors summer house, we just called them the sours, it was their last name. They were nice, two brothers who just came up every now and then. They let us use their dock down at the lake. That was where I was heading. Every day I would bring my dog down to the little, shallow channel where she would pad her way through the water for hours chasing fish. She never really caught one though. Maggie was a black lab mix, we aren’t sure what, but we are pretty sure she is part Collie, due to her small size and need to round up little children at my aunt’s house. She was pure black with a small streak of white going down from her neck and a little dash of white on her back right toes. She was only two years old, but she had a fiery spirit.
Anyways, we were heading down the dirt road, I had to take off Maggie’s shock-collar and bring her over the line. So she thought it was still some sort of “human magic” that let her pass. Then once we went over that danger zone I pointed my hand and made a high-pitched “yup” to reassure that she could star running to the water then, I would always feel bad if I didn’t since I could walk fast enough for her to keep her cool. I brought one of my books down to read with me, like I have always done. I stepped onto the first wooden plank of the red, worn down dock. It creaked as I walked over to the small bench at the end. I could hear my dog splashing in behind me, lapping up the water. Then just as I sat down, a loud screech startled me, my dog too. A loud noise coming from town, another one picked up in a different direction, then another. Waking the whole town up with a roar, and scaring me half to death. What was it though, and then I thought “Is that the tornado siren going off?”
Apparently the skies were clear, so there was no tornado indeed. Maybe it was their weekly drill they do every Wednesday at one-o’clock. “But wait?!” I said out loud, it wasn’t Wednesday, it was a Tuesday. It was ten-o’clock, not one. My dog perched her ears up looking in the distance where the sirens were. A fisherman in a boat also looked in that way, as did I. I ignored it, thinking that they maybe changed the date, something odd like that. Nothing ever goes wrong in Northern Minnesota. I started to read my book. “Here lays Arthur” it was called; I was into many of these books, old times, back with the Romans and Vikings.
“I climbed past the battle place. The heap of our dead was so high it made me think of Peredur had been right, and none of the others had escaped alive. I told myself to stay calm, but the thought of ghosts got inside my head and set me running, fearful that the dead men were running behind me, angry at me for still being alive. I imagined cold hands reaching-”
I was still on the first paragraph when my dog, Maggie started barking her head off. It made me very ill to concentrate against both her and the sirens still going off in my head. I stood up to yell when I noticed that someone had come home. That was what my dog was barking at, a silver truck up the hill at our house. It was my dad, or so I thought. I took the dog and ran up the hill to great him.
“Dad! Dad!” I yelled running up to him with my dog short behind. He was tall and muscular with dark brown hair. He worked in construction and was probably home just to pick up some tools he forgot.
“Hey Jos.” He said slamming the truck door.
“Did yah hear them sirens?”
My dad nodded, “Yea, either it was a fire or the Koreans finally decided to attack."
I slightly laughed at that joke, so far these years it’s almost been a second cold war against North Korea and the U.N.
* * * *
My father Pete decided to stop in to have lunch too, so I took out a frozen pizza and pulled the rapping off. Canadian bacon was always my favorite. I set the oven and put it in, our family grew a strong line of not being so patient, or fallowing directions. So when putting the pizza in we have never waited for it to pre-cook. It tasted the same either way. I sat back on the counter waiting by the oven and turned the television on, sitting in the corner of my kitchen. It looked weird there, but it was nice, and really small. It was perfect for my parents to watch while drinking coffee in the morning.
It was automatically set on the news channel, and before I could switch it to something else, a world news alert popped up and made my fingers freeze from hitting the channel button. It reported as my mouth hung wide open:
“Early this morning, we have come to see that the North Koreans have bombed down “The Mall of America”, located in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Today it is hard to tell whether how many people have been buried in this mush and rubble, and who may still be alive. Search crews have taken out dogs and are going to start their search once we know the ground in secure. Tragic struck without warning at nine forty-five, U.S. central time. A bomb threat was issued near midnight about the attack, but the cops saw it as no threat and kept their normal officers at work. Bombs seemed to go off all at once around and inside the building, and now we are here at ground zero trying to find more information on the Korean attack. So far they have two suspects that they have caught from the scene and were brought in for questioning. We will have more about this tragedy later on FOX.
Paul, Back to you-….”
Everything escaped my mind like a river. I have been to “The Mall of America” several times in my life. How could this happen? Why here? I wondered then how many people were in the building at that time, or even if any of them were my fellow cousins, aunts or uncles. It was like nine-eleven all over again. In the background I heard many yells and screams, nobody was doing anything about it though, they just stood there.
“Well,” I said in shock, “It isn’t the biggest mall in America now.” Half jokingly I sat down in one of our kitchen chairs.
So many things had happened these past few weeks, and now more? Michael Jackson had just died, along with Billy Mays and Farrah Foccet. Many people, I couldn’t even keep track of them all in my head.
‘Why Minnesota?’ I asked in my head, ‘why not Washington D.C. or, well, somewhere else but here!’ My eyes started to sting once I blinked, and they watered down my cheeks.
The television still blared about the thing; I looked down to the floor once I started to listen again. They were interviewing one of the suspects, you could tell by his face he was a North Korean, he started yelling with a slight laugh as he sat, locked in chains at that small table:
“This isn’t the end! There is more, you nasty Americans better watch out, because you won’t see this coming!”
“What is happening, tell us.”
“You would think I would tell you! You-”
I turned the television off, I couldn’t stand it. Also the oven started to beep, and my pizza was done. Everyone was saying we don’t need this war, fighting with everyone, and looking for a fight. Usually I just respond ‘We didn’t get our land and freedom by backing down,’ Then I would look to heaven, ‘Don’t you remember the days, when our country was burning to the ground. Would you really just let that happen, or would you fight back, and save your people.’ And I think there was a song that went like that; I would think of it often, it was called “Have you forgotten” By Darryl Worley. It really makes me think, and in your life time you will always find that one song that makes you think like this one.
“Isn’t it funny how the smallest countries make the biggest problems” I said.
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